


burns don’t heal like before

by honeyfoozle



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Partying, Pining, Pining Zuko (Avatar), Post-Canon, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, he does not enjoy introspection, sokka is kind of oblivious until now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyfoozle/pseuds/honeyfoozle
Summary: After a crazy night out, Sokka wakes up in the Fire Lord’s bed.Cue recalling foggy, humiliating details of the night before, a bit of angst and, of course, Sokka realizing that hey, maybe he’s a little gay for his best bro Zuko.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 256





	1. on the right side of the wrong bed

The first thing Sokka becomes aware of is a throbbing headache and desert-dry mouth. He’s hot, too hot, and extends a leg out from under the blankets as a quick remedy. His bare foot is now pleasantly cool, but he still feels like shit. He groans, swinging an arm to cover his eyes before slowly cracking them open. Underneath his forearm, the world is still beautifully dark.

“Oh, spirits,” Sokka says, exhaling loudly. “Everything hurts.”

His stomach feels all sorts of woozy and he tries to concentrate on his breathing. The consequences of last night’s drinking are not going to be kind to him today, that much is certain.

‘ _Fuck being awake right now,’_ he thinks. Squeezing his eyes shut again, Sokka rolls into a fetal position and snuggles deeper under the covers. ‘ _Damn, I don’t remember my blankets being this soft…’_

His afflicted, suffering body allows him a half-hour of light sleep. The throbbing headache wakes him up again, and Sokka realizes that, wow, he’s really fucking dehydrated.

As if on cue, his eyes slide to the bedside table, where he sees a tall glass of water and a few tablets of pain relievers. He doesn’t question the irony—chalks it up to his past-self doing him a solid. But then—Sokka’s halfway through downing the water when his eyes go wide and he all but spits it out.

_‘This isn’t my room. This is NOT my room. Where the fuck did those pills come from? And why did I take them so willingly?’_

“You’re finally up,” a voice says. When Sokka turns to the source, Zuko is on the other side of the bed, back against the headboard. Sokka’s first instinct is to half-smile at the familiar face. 

“Oh, good morning, Zuko—”

But, wait.

 _“Zuko?!”_ Sokka shoots up, pointing a crazed finger at him. He’s never been more shocked to see the Fire Lord in his life, and that’s saying a lot. Like, _a lot._

A few throw pillows tumble to the floor as Sokka looks around, frantic for some context amidst Zuko’s stunned silence. He pushes the duvet off of him with haste, as though he hadn’t been happily swaddled like a burrito in it ten minutes ago.

Zuko watches as he twists this way and that, taking in his surroundings with a distraught affect comparable to a kidnapping victim—certainly not a fellow waking up in his best friend’s room.

“You okay, buddy?” Zuko looks uneasy. His steady gaze is full of trepidation and his hands are lifted in the air—as though he really needs to convince Sokka he’s not going to hurt him.

“I’m in your bed,” Sokka says finally, a conclusion that has taken him far too long to achieve—but a correct one, nonetheless. His breathing calms a little as he realizes it.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, slow, not wanting to set him off again. Disturbingly, Sokka’s mocha skin is just about as pale as it’s ever been.

“I’m…oh, spirits,” Sokka says, and no, he’s actually beet red, now. So red that he can hardly get his words out. “I’m wearing your clothes.”

“O-oh, um.” Zuko looks down and clears his throat. “I can explain that.”

Sokka frowns at him before peeking under the band of his sweatpants and making a new, decidedly more horrific discovery.

“I’m wearing your _underwear!”_ He cries, curling his head into his hands and burying them into his hair.

“Hey, Sokka—Sokka!” Zuko says, placing a hand on his friend’s heaving back. “Just calm down. I didn’t do anything weird.”

“No, not at all. You just squeezed me into your little briefs and called it a night!” Sokka is practically hysterical, and it _would_ be funny—but he’s actually a lot more frenzied than Zuko had anticipated. What’s there to be so riled up about, anyways?

Plus, the implications of that statement on Zuko’s character isn’t going to fly. 

“Oh, _that’s_ rich. You think I wanted to dress you like a baby?” Zuko says. He stands up and crosses his arms, leaning backwards with an incredulous look on his face. Before he even opens his mouth, Sokka knows he’s screwed—and boy, does Zuko deliver.

“Bold talk coming from the chump who puked _all over_ himself and tried to cuddle me afterwards.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by Sokka repeatedly opening and closing his mouth with rapidly diminishing conviction.

“You’re…like, you have to be kidding, right?” Is all he can manage, suddenly very still.

“Oh no, I’m dead serious,” Zuko says, ruthless in his flat affect. He doesn’t elaborate, and the mental images conjured up in Sokka’s mind are enough to mortify him for, like, _life._

“I didn’t do anything else…too weird, right?” Sokka says in a small voice, feeling his last shred of pride abandon him. 

“I don’t know, Sokka, what do you _think_ you did?” Zuko grins now, eyes dancing with amusement as Sokka grapples with this vast, horrifying unknown. It’s sadistic, it’s humiliating, it’s—it’s exactly what Sokka deserves, he realizes as his face begins to burn. 

Because suddenly, the details of last night come back to him in one fell swoop.

\-------

Sokka doesn’t remember why he agreed to do this. In fact, he can’t remember much of the last two hours at all.

“—and it’d be so fun! C’mon Sokka!”

Aang has a vice grip on his shoulder, shaking him and bouncing up and down.

“Ge’way from me,” Sokka says, curling his head into his hands. “Don’t know you.”

“Oh, spirits,” Toph says. “When he doesn’t recognize the bald kid with arrow tattoos, you know it’s bad.”

Sokka groans. No, he perfectly recognizes his fuzzy-looking friends, thank you very much. He isn’t _that_ drunk, yet. He just—oh spirits above—he does _not_ want to participate in what his friends are pushing him to do. Not one bit.

“It’s me, Aang. I’m the Avatar, Sokka!” Aang smiles broadly—couldn’t look condescending if he tried—and holds up four long fingers. “You know, _four el-e-ments. Pow-er-ful be-ing. De-feat-ed the fire-lord.”_ He speaks slowly, loudly and enunciated, like some sort of ‘Avatar for Dummies’ crash course.

“I know, I know!” Sokka shoves him. “The hell do you take me for, some hopeless drunkard?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Aang says.

“Katara? A little help, please?” Sokka crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out, looking at his sister like a baby might look at its mother after defecating. 

“I think you’re beyond help at this point, big bro,” Katara says, patting him on the head fondly. He snorts, ducking under her touch but not disagreeing.

Yeah, he’s well on his way to getting absolutely obliterated. Sokka is at least coherent to understand _that_ much. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to go to the dance floor with his friends. Who cares that it’s Aang’s 18th birthday? Not Sokka. He’s helped that kid enough to sustain him for each birthday here on out. 

“You guys go,” Zuko’s voice cuts over the crowd, and he places a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on the party pooper.”

Sokka’s head snaps up. “Hey!”

“Great, now I have to third-wheel,” Toph says with dreadful anticipation. “You’re lucky I like you, Twinkle Toes—and that I totally didn’t get you a gift, so this will have to suffice.”

Sokka downs the rest of his drink as they leave, but not before Katara gives him one last _‘I-can’t-believe-you’re-refusing-my-precious-Aang-this-one-thing-and-on-his-birthday-nonetheless’_ look. Specific as it may be, Sokka recognizes the message immediately. He ignores it, though; instead, he stares down the bottom of his sixth beverage that night. 

“You should consider mixing a water or two in there,” Zuko says, pulling a chair out and sitting down.

“And why’s that?” Sokka slurs. “M’fine.”

Zuko smiles fondly but laughs at Sokka’s nonsense. “You are absolutely _not_ fine, buddy.”

He orders him a water—or three—and makes cutthroat gestures to the waitress when Sokka tries to order two gin and tonics. At his incessant slurring, she flashes Zuko an empathetic nod, crossing the order off her notepad with vigor.

“One of them was gonna be for you,” Sokka says and shrugs. He sways back and forth in his seat, looking around the pub with glossy blue eyes. “Your loss.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Zuko says.

Despite being obviously obliterated, Sokka remains contained in his chair, rocking back and forth with the music. He gulps down the waters when the waitress brings them, thanking Zuko excessively and mouthing deliriously at the rim of the cups. 

“This is _my_ water,” he says, clutching the cup as though it were treasure. “Not Katara’s this time, nuh-uh. She can’t bend it if it’s in my belly.” 

“Um…yeah?” Zuko says. “I guess.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I jus’ started bending this shit?” Sokka makes a bunch of hand gestures, fruitlessly willing the water to move. “Watch out, Aang, there’s a new Avatar in town.”

“Not how it works,” Zuko says with a smile. He reaches over to ruffle Sokka’s hair, which ignites a small flame in his belly. How much had _Zuko_ had to drink tonight, anyways? Definitely not as much as Sokka, that’s for sure—but his pupils are dilated, and the ever-present tension in his shoulders is marginally relaxed. That counts for something.

“You’re so cute when you’re logical,” Sokka smiles, scooting his chair closer. “Actually, you’re always cute.”

Zuko blushes something fierce but tries to remain composed—a little restrained, even. “Thanks, buddy,” he says.

Things get a little foggy after that. The drink Sokka downed earlier catches up to him quickly, taking with it his last shred of inhibition. He’s a handsy drunk, he already knows this, which is why hanging onto Zuko’s arm and rubbing his head into his shoulder seems like a natural next step. Zuko isn’t opposed to the contact, but he does stiffen under it. 

“You’re not in your right mind, buddy,” he says, awkwardly patting him on the back. Sokka melts under the contact, snuggling into the crook of Zuko’s neck.

“Take me home,” Sokka says, right into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. “M’tired.”

“Spirits, don’t do this to me,” Zuko murmurs beneath his breath. He groans, internally conflicted about this or that—Sokka doesn’t pay any mind. He’s more interested in locking his arms around Zuko’s neck and closing his eyes. It’s so comfortable, he could fall asleep right there and be perfectly content.

But then, his safe haven is ripped away. Sokka whines when Zuko pries his arms off his neck, untangling himself and huffing in exasperation. Zuko’s cheeks are cherry red, pupils are blown and he looks a little…well, _uncomfortable_ is probably the best way to put it, based on the way he shifts in his seat and adjusts his pants.

“What’d I do?” Sokka asks, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Nothing, buddy,” Zuko says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just too hot in here for that. Drink some more water, okay?”

Sokka makes it exactly two more cups of water until he’s all over Zuko again. He’s just so— _there,_ and so damn huggable. It isn’t Sokka’s fault! His hands traverse all over; on his face, in his hair, along his arms and across his chest. When he gives Zuko a hard but loving pinch on the cheek—“what if I was your grandma, Zuko? What would you do?”—Zuko’s face contorts in disgust and he shoves Sokka’s hand away with a frown.

However, if Sokka has learned one thing in life, it’s that persistence achieves results. Therefore, Zuko gives up the good fight eventually, and now Sokka sits on his lap, relishing in the way Zuko’s arm is wound tightly around his waist. It’s not for nothing—music is blaring and Sokka rocks back and forth to the beat, aggressively enough to fall over if it weren’t for his friend’s support.

After a while he goes pleasantly still. Foggy-brained and buzzing, he entertains himself by searching for his friends in the crowd. To his immense comfort, Zuko’s arm doesn’t leave his waist.

“Having fun?” Zuko asks after a few moments, looking up at him. His eyes glisten in the spotty pub lighting and there’s a small smile on his face. He looks so sweet, so patient in the face of Sokka’s obnoxious, drunk antics. It warms his obliterated little heart.

Before Sokka can stop himself, his fingers tangle into Zuko’s hair and he plants a big kiss on his cheek, right under his scar.

“Sokka! Jeez, what are you doing?” Zuko pulls back, putting as much distance between them as he can, considering Sokka is all but straddling him.

“You’re jus’ so pretty,” Sokka smiles, dazed and unphased. “But,” he becomes theatrically serious, “so _powerful,_ too.”

“Okay, you need to go to bed.” Zuko grabs Sokka’s wrists and holds them tight, preventing his wandering hands from any more excursions. He still looks gentle, but there’s a sense of finality in the way his mouth presses into a firm line.

“Noooo, Zuko!” Sokka whines. “I wanna daaaaance with you.”

No longer tired, he stands and makes his way to the dance floor, dragging an extremely stressed and hesitant Zuko along with him.

\-------

Sokka forcibly grounds himself back to reality. He truly cannot take another fucking second of that whirlwind. His waking nightmare, humiliating as it had been, lasted only a few real-time moments.

He’s still in Zuko’s bedroom—no, his _bed,_ thank you very much—and the Fire Lord looks at him calmly, previous traces of amusement vanished. From the way his brows are drawn together, he actually looks a bit concerned.

“Look, I’m sorry, I…I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that,” Zuko says.

Sokka shakes his head. The ego-destroying memories were going to come back no matter what, really. Plus, from what Sokka remembers, Zuko _definitely_ isn’t the one who should be apologizing.

Still, he’s way too mortified to admit that. 

“It’s fine, man, uh…I shouldn’t have…um…done any of that. And dragged you to the dance floor, and stuff.”

Zuko doesn’t say anything. He pointedly looks away from Sokka’s shy gaze, a painful suggestion that his half-assed apology doesn’t address the entirety of what happened. No, Zuko is far too polite—or _embarrassed_ , a thought that makes Sokka’s throat constrict—to spell it out.

The once ill-tempered fire bender has really softened throughout the years. Maybe it’s been a part of growing up, maybe it’s a persona he’s had to adopt from diving headfirst into politics at age 16. Sokka can’t say for sure.

It’s weird, though. Zuko never has a problem with calling Aang out on his shit. Or Katara. Or Toph. Or— _‘wow,’_ Sokka thinks—literally anyone but him. Why is he always tiptoeing around Sokka? He’s a man, he can take some heat.

Sure, Sokka’s the last to _personally_ own up to his fuckups, but he’s open to others confronting him about them. Appreciates it, even. That way, he doesn’t have to embark on a journey where he—ugh— _independently reflects on what he’s done._

When did things become so awkward? There wasn’t always this much left unspoken between the two. Before he started dating Suki, they would always bicker, quibble and banter like the absolute best of bros. But then they started dating, and the two grew apart a bit.

But he broke up with Suki almost an entire year ago. They'd rekindled that awkward, lost closeness. They were better friends than ever. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” Sokka asks suddenly, a wave of nausea threatening to humiliate him even more, assuming that were possible. He covers his mouth as his cheeks puff out, a clear indicator of what’s about to happen. 

“Down the hall to the left,” Zuko answers hastily, stepping out of the proverbial splash zone.

Sokka momentarily forgets his indignity as he brushes past Zuko, urgently and gracelessly stumbling to the bathroom. He barely makes it in time.

Hunched over the toilet bowl, Sokka decides that it might just be time to do some dreaded personal reflection. That thought—or perhaps the eight drinks he guzzled last night—is enough to send him retching all over again, grasping the toilet bowl with a pained sense of defeat.

He hopes Zuko doesn’t hear any of this. Not like he has even a shred of pride left, anyways.


	2. keep it between friends

Throwing up is a pleasant distraction from last night’s awkward memories, which says a lot about Sokka's aptitude for emotional introspection. The door is locked, thankfully, so Zuko can’t come into the bathroom even if he wants to.

 _‘Not sure why he would want that,’_ Sokka thinks as another bout of rib-heaving retching ensues. His body loudly rejects the pills and water he downed earlier, so aggressively that tears prick the corners of his eyes.

When his stomach has nothing left to give, Sokka shudders and catches his breath. Throat sufficiently burnt and raw, he leans against the porcelain bathtub and brings a shaky hand through his hair. This is definitely one of his heftier hangovers, though nothing will top his and Zuko’s joint-21st—even Aang suffered repercussions after that night.

“Never drinking again,” he says, a pact he’s been making quite often as of late.

“Sokka?” Zuko’s voice is muffled by the door between them. “You okay, buddy?”

His voice reminds Sokka why there’s an uncomfortable, anxious knot in his gut that has nothing to do with alcohol.

“Please just leave me alone to die,” Sokka calls back in a faint voice. He’s not even certain it reaches his friend’s ears.

Either way, Zuko doesn’t answer. They _both_ know he’s not talking about death by hangover. 

The fierce vomiting is one thing—and it’s embarrassing, that’s for sure—but it’s only the proverbial _‘cherry on top’_ of Sokka’s humiliation sundae. And hell if it isn’t stacked; lots of toppings, hot fudge, crazy flavors…there’s a lot to unpack here.

The last thing Sokka remembers is drunkenly snuggling up on his best friend and dragging him to the dance floor. That’s the kind of stuff he used to do with Suki— _Suki,_ his ex-girlfriend of almost five years. The woman he planned on marrying, at one point.

He broke up with her last year because the relationship evolved to feel more and more…wrong. The little quirks weren’t so cute anymore, they were grating. Arguments weren’t once in a while, they were constant. One day, Sokka woke up and realized that he didn’t love her at all anymore—he was just clinging to the familiarity of it all. The comfort.

Sure, he misses a relationship, but he doesn’t miss Suki. 

Then there’s his best bro, Zuko. Kind-hearted, turtleduck-loving Zuko. The only one to check in on him at all throughout the past year. The only one who understands—he and Mai broke up a few months before Sokka and Suki did, and things were tough for a stretch. Katara and Aang are indefinitely (and annoyingly) in the honeymoon phase, and Toph? Sokka could laugh. Toph doesn’t do relationships.

That left Sokka and Zuko to navigate the uncharted territory of breakups with only each other as a compass. It’s brought them closer together, he guesses. After a while, they began to fill that lonely void for each other. Hanging out on the weekends only to do nothing together. Telling each other all the mundane details of their day. Venting about their frivolous problems.

Do they consistently provide each other the emotional intimacy formerly provided by their girlfriends? One could say. But Sokka doesn’t care. Bros can be helpful in all sorts of different ways—from getting over their ex to having weekly picnics by the river.

The line between emotional and physical intimacy is clear, though; they aren’t into each other like _that._ Sokka scrunches his face at the thought—spirits, no, not at all. In fact, the past year has included a few one-night stands for both men, a contrived attempt to _really_ forget about their ex’s. In the end, though, the hobby ended almost as quickly as it began. Sokka and Zuko have an unspoken agreement; they aren’t really about that life. Who needs a chick for the night when you have your best buddy to shoot the shit with? Sokka considers that worldview quite mature, considering his age and frequent sexual urges. Nothing strange about it. Nothing at all.

Sure, during that phase, was Sokka weirdly jealous whenever Zuko had a girl over? Absolutely; it meant less time for their bro hangouts. Did Zuko pointedly _never_ ask Sokka about the details of his last lay, or even make an effort to know if he was getting any action at all? In fact, did Zuko seem entirely displeased at the mere thought of Sokka being intimate with someone else? You bet. But, Zuko’s always been a bit of a prude like that. It’s not like Sokka wanted to know any of _his_ details, either.

Sokka shakes his head. In the end, they’re just a couple of great buddies. Zuko the Fire Lord and Sokka the Warrior. Two bachelors, he thinks with a grin. Two best friends. They’ll find their smoking hot wives someday.

Well, eventually.

Eh, if it doesn’t happen, that’s okay too. At least they have each other.

But last night, the line between emotional and physical got a little blurred. And it was entirely Sokka’s fault.

\-------

The erratic pub lighting brings out the thin sheen of sweat on Zuko’s brow. Sokka wipes it off with his thumb, grinning.

“Someone’s a lil hot.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “At least I’m not wasted.”

He stiffens when Sokka tries to twirl him around, mumbling something about not being much of a dancer. Sokka knows that’s not true—“what about the dancing dragon?” “that’s different, dumbass,”—and continues his relentless pursuit to swing him around like a proper dancing partner. Zuko stands firm, arms crossed and not at all amused by Sokka bouncing about.

“Let me have this, Zuko,” he pleads, blue eyes reminiscent of a puppy.

Zuko sighs. It’s as though somehow, he knows exactly what Sokka means by that.

His version of dancing is, apparently, to lightly stomp in place and clap his hands to the beat. It’s cute, Sokka thinks. He’s _trying._ And he’s certainly not about to match Sokka’s energy, because damn if he isn’t hard to keep up with.

After a while, Sokka insists on moving to the center of the mosh pit—“absolutely not, Sokka, I’m not going near a bunch of sweaty strangers”—and hell, there must have been something in those waters, because he’s about as energized as one could be at 1am after six drinks.

But Sokka’s sprightly buzz is dulled when a girl comes up and tries to dance with Zuko. She’s pretty; blonde hair, pale skin and dark eyes— _‘everything I’m not,’_ Sokka notes dully. And as amusing as it is to watch Zuko fumble to reject her (“oh, you see, uh, I wouldn’t want to leave my good buddy all alone, and—“) the green monster has its claws latched into Sokka before he can even identify what that implies.

“Take me home.” He frowns at Zuko when the girl—dejected but clearly turned off by his awkwardness—finally gives up and retreats back to the bar. “M’tired.”

“You ready to go, buddy?” Zuko is unphased, if anything a little relieved Sokka is finally willing to call it a night.

Sokka nods and rubs his eyes, feigning tiredness when he really just wants to appear cute and vulnerable. He’s coherent enough to understand how insufferable and immature he’s being, but not coherent enough to pull himself together.

And yet, it works like a charm—Zuko’s hand stays on Sokka’s back as he leads him out of the pub, guiding him through a safe path. They never did reconnect with the rest of the group, who were likely fast asleep by now. Sokka doesn’t mind, though; he’ll see them tomorrow, or something. Plus, he’s with Zuko.

“I’d feel better if you just stay with me tonight,” Zuko says. “You’re pretty gone.”

Sokka isn’t listening; he’s entirely focused on something else. “Why’d you dance with that girl?”

“What? I didn’t.”

“Why’d you _want_ to dance with that girl?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Zuko sighs. “Sokka, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Dammit, Zuko.” Sokka’s head is foggy, but the point he’s getting at is suddenly clear as the night sky. “I didn’t like that at all.”

Zuko looks a little surprised. “I—um. Yeah. We don’t really do one-night stands, right? I wasn’t about it, either.”

“No, Zuko.” Sokka closes the distance between them until they’re almost chest to chest. “I didn’t like that at _all.”_

Zuko’s amber eyes are hard to read. They saccade over Sokka’s face, grazing over his eyes, his nose and his lips, where they finally settle. Sokka wonders if inebriation unlocks a sixth sense or something, because there’s a magnetic pull between them, suddenly. A chemistry he’s never quite felt before.

“Sokka…” Zuko’s breath tickles his face. His pupils are blown. “W-we should—”

Sokka is enchanted. He closes the distance between them, pressing his mouth against Zuko’s. His lips are warm and rough, just like Sokka always thought they’d be— _‘wait, what?’_ He pushes that thought into his “To Be Dealt With By Future Sokka” box. It’s stuffed full and used a _lot._

He doesn’t care. He’s too busy kissing his best friend right now. Sokka clasps a hand over the back of Zuko’s neck, threading the other through his soft hair. Zuko is stiff at first, but Sokka’s drunkenness grants him a sort of persistence that he eventually melts into, returning the kiss with equal desire. It’s chaste, all things considered. Sweet, hesitant nips are each other’s lips, puffs of flustered breathing interrupting the pleasant rhythm. 

Zuko seems to catch himself and pulls away at once. “I…I’m sorry.”

Sokka takes a moment to open his eyes, arms still wrapped around Zuko. He frowns.

“Sorry for what? I kissed you first.” His words are slurred, and the reminder of his inebriation makes Zuko grimace and look down.

“You didn’t mean to. You’re drunk, buddy.” He looks sad, stepping out of Sokka’s embrace and turning in on himself. “I shouldn’t have gone along with that.”

“I meant to do it.” Sincere as he is, Sokka doesn’t sound convincing at all. He sounds like he needs to pound an eight-ounce bottle of water and go to bed, like, right now. “We’re both drunk, Zuko.”

“I’m not drunk.” Zuko is stone-cold serious. He looks at Sokka with a mix of pining, distress and remorse all at once. “I’m not drunk at all.”

The last thing Sokka remembers is twisting around to vomit onto the pavement.

\-------

He’s back in Zuko’s bathroom, heart pounding. Did he remember that correctly? Did he really…?

Sokka stays still for a few painstaking moments, contemplating how likely it is he’s gone crazy. He really must have, because he can recall exactly how Zuko’s lips felt on his own—and the memory of it warms his core. Yep, that definitely happened.

The tile floor cools his burning cheek as he curls into a fetal position, hellbent on staying in that bathroom until the end of time, if necessary. There’s no way he can face Zuko, just absolutely no way.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Sokka? Can I come in?”

Speak of the devil. Zuko sounds small, perhaps just as nervous as Sokka is. Considering he’s fully aware of last night’s happenings—and has been this whole time—Sokka is amazed he wants to talk to him at all.

Sokka’s fight or flight response ignites, and he begins to do what he does best; conspire a kickass plan to get himself out of this situation.

 _‘Think, you idiot, think!’_ Flopping onto his back, Sokka eyes the window next to the bathroom sink. It wouldn’t be a _deadly_ drop, maybe just a twisted ankle. Sokka groans as he weighs the outcome of his options—talk like a civilized adult, or escape through the window? Neither seem pleasant, but anything is better than the painstaking conversation yet to be had if he stays here.

Ignoring Zuko’s polite questioning, Sokka stands up and unlocks the window, sliding it up and open with ease. He gets to work unscrewing the screen with the butt of Zuko’s toothbrush (as if he hasn’t stripped his friend of enough resources, physical and emotional), and curses when it falls on his foot.

“What are doing?” Zuko asks. He clearly heard the ruckus, and Sokka’s gig is up.

“I’m just gonna get going now! Thanks for everything, Zuko!” Sokka tries to sound casual, as though he were walking out the front door instead of disassembling a window to squeeze through and jump out of.

“What? Sokka, this isn’t funny. Let me in!” Zuko pounds on the door, so hard it begins to stress against the hinges.

“Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later!” Sokka lifts his leg and slides it over the pane. He ducks under the window, assesses the drop and—hoo, boy. Definitely a bit steeper than he anticipated.

He steels his nerves, wills himself to get it over with—' _tuck and roll, Sokka, tuck and roll’—_ but then the door flies open and Zuko has him pulled safely inside and pinned to the floor. 

“You were _not_ just going to jump out of my fucking window!”

“So what if I was?!”

“Have you lost your fucking mind? Seriously Sokka, what is wrong with you?!”

“I have to go home! I left something important there!” _‘My pride,’_ his inner jokester can’t resist.

“That’s bullshit!”

They stare at each other. Zuko’s mouth is set in a deep scowl and he looks down at Sokka through narrow eyes and furrowed brows. Sokka’s wide-eyed face reads a hearty _‘please don’t kill me’,_ and he reckons he radiates the same guilt as a dog who was caught shitting on the floor. Hell, he might as well have done that, too. It still wouldn’t be as embarrassing as his stunt last night.

“Get up,” Zuko says, climbing off of him and standing to put the window back in place. “We’re talking this through right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall hahaha I know this sucks this genre is not my forte but if you've made it this far, thank you :) comments are always appreciated! xx
> 
> by the way, the fic title and chapter names are based on [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNBc5mnRIao)
> 
> one more chappie left :o


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